


Locks

by Alphinss



Series: Self Inflicted Suffering; Writing Challange [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced to Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Past Abuse, Pre-Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphinss/pseuds/Alphinss
Summary: Dean denied his life. Living behind lock and key crafted by his own mind. But doors can splinter and locks can break; if one has the right tools.





	Locks

Dean Winchester had spent almost his whole life behind a locked door, merely peeping through the key hole. Every experience seen through three lines and a curve. Each sound muffled, only coming through as thuds and murmurs. He’d press his eye to the lock, or his ear to the scuffed wood and he had what he needed. A locked door was safe. 

A door would protect you from the monsters outside.

It only showed you what you needed, protecting you from what you did not. Behind a locked door you didn’t hear the shouts and screams of a family in pieces. Behind a locked door you couldn’t see as your brother walked out without even a word. Behind a locked door you couldn’t feel as your father took his frustration out on an already beaten body. A locked door was safe.

That was how it had always been for Dean. On occasion Dean had opened his door, his brother scurrying behind the battered wood. They would sit there together, hand in hand, whispered words of meaningless reassurance. Dad will get better, school will get better, life will get better. But the door was always wrenched open, Sam running as fast as he had entered. Dean, once again, watching him through his warped vision of the world.   

But, the years went by and the visits were less. The door stiffened, locks rusting, hinges weak. Opening was harder, the very handle he had once pushed down with such ease, now nearly frozen in place. The times when he could muster the force, limbs shaking, sweat dripping from every pore, becoming less and less. Once a week, once a month, once a year. But a locked door was safe.

A locked door kept out the sight of a beast so grotesque that a blink of its form would cause any sane creature to run in terror. The door kept out the growls from a mouth filled with spitting teeth and burning spit. It dulled the pain as teeth ripped through the very flesh holding him together. His body in pieces, his blood pooling on the floor. But his door remained; he was safe.

A body cannot feel the torture. Hooks stuck into flesh as it’s pulled apart. Behind a door you don’t scream for help, begging for someone that will never come. You can’t hear the vicious laughter, or the haunted screams. Behind the scuffed wood, you can’t feel as you pick up the very knife, cutting into your skin, mere seconds before. You can’t hear as the laughs become yours and the screams become theirs. Behind the door was safe. Behind the door, the world didn’t hurt you.

 

But doors can be broken.

 

Dean, behind his door, couldn’t feel as he was pulled from the pit, a mark of ownership scorched into his arm. He couldn’t hear as words were whispered. He barely contemplated anything as he clawed his way from the ground, his nails wrecking soil, his mouth filling with dirt. Only the vibrations against wood and the shaking of a lock rusted in place. He couldn’t feel as his voice screamed in desperation.

Yet, the reply, that he could hear.

A bright light, white and blinding. He could see it. A voice, demanding, deafening. He could hear every syllable with perfect clarity. As glass shattered around him and the very foundations of the world he had built himself upon, shook with a ferocity it was difficult to comprehend. Dean could feel every atom.

Then, with one word, one syllable, a whisper and a shout, the door shattered. Wood splintered, spraying in fractured fragments. Dean could feel it. The sharp spikes of wood, digging into his skin.

The locks, he had crafted so meticulously thunked to the floor. The vibrations seeming to shake everything that Dean had ever known. His door. His door was broken. Light was streaming, voices screaming, body trembling. 

Eyes squinting as light filled them for the first time. Legs shaky as they straightened from their crouched position and ears ringing from the sound, so loud Dean thought they might start bleeding.

 

Dean

 

Through everything else. That was all that it had taken. That one word, in a voice that transcended comprehension and yet was more a part of him than anything else had ever been. That was all he had ever needed.

There, before eyes that were still adjusting it stood. Enormous, a being beyond explanation. Through the shattered glass who’s crunches went unheard under ears that chose not to listen.

Comprehension fleeing further with one closer step. He needed this. He needed the creature before him. The pull was unexplainable, the desirer uncontrollable. It transcended beauty and yet was horrific beyond comprehension.

He didn’t know if he’d asked, the question slipping from his lips without his consent. It may have been that the creature simply knew him. Could see, in the face of reverence, what it was that Dean needed to know. The truth of the world spoken on lips that were not to be seen.

Dean couldn’t, didn’t even know how to go about wording what he had heard. But he knew the answer. Words that had and had not been spoken. A name in all its glory. One that he would never hope to live up to.        

Dean fell to his knees. Grass colourless under the eyes of a sinner.

 

Castiel.

 

The only thing Dean could think, the only thing that he really needed to.

His only hope was that he would be able to worship here forever.  

 


End file.
